


To Boldly Go: Life And Strife Aboard The U.S.S. Vingilot

by Quantumphysica



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Science Fiction, Arda is a confederation of planets, But In Space, F/M, Family Drama, Living Silmarils, The War of Wrath, This is (surprisingly enough) not crack, Vingilot is an actual starship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantumphysica/pseuds/Quantumphysica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Eärendil of the starship Vingilot led a quiet, simple life of traveling space and mapping star charts…<br/>At least, until an attack of the O.A.T.H. on his home world draws him and his family into a web of political intrigue, and puts them unwittingly on the front lines of a large interplanetary conflict… </p><p>With hypocrite politicians, family drama, Dragon-Class battlecruisers, and a mysterious payload on their hands, will the Vingilot survive this turmoil unscathed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drama On Board

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a gift from Irmo. AKA, I had this totally bizarre Silmarillion/Star-Trek dream, and it was too outlandish an idea not to turn it into a story. I apologize. (Also, this is not actually a crossover, it's just the Silmarillion but in space, with some extra artistic liberties taken of course)  
> Feedback is greatly appreciated.

_Captain’s Log, stardate 538.7_

_It’s been three days since the incident on Beleriand, and there has been no contact with the surface since. We continue to hail them, but neither Doriath nor Port Sirion responds to our calls; it is suspected that both are destroyed. The atmosphere aboard the ship hasn’t been this tense since we left Mithlond Spacedock, and the mysterious cargo Commander Elwing brought aboard doesn’t help that situation in the least. Message of it has been sent to Aman and we are currently awaiting further orders. Commander Elwing, the only one present on Beleriand at the time of the incident, refuses to speak to me. She… I think she blames me… I made a mistake by leaving her-_

“Computer, erase that.”

His personal issues had no place in the official Log, no matter how difficult it was to separate business and personal when you were married to your first officer… Captain Eärendil buried his face in his hands. It was all such a mess. If he had known what would happen, he would never have sent Elwing and the twins to Beleriand. Young children aboard wouldn’t have been ideal, but at least they would have been safe, they wouldn’t… He didn’t want to think it through.

Back then it had seemed the logical option; the U.S.S. Vingilot was a research vessel on a mission to map star charts, it was hardly the place to raise children. When Elwing’s family in Doriath had offered her a home for as long as needed, they hadn’t hesitated to accept. The Dwarven Wars were over after all, and as ruler of the city Elwing’s father Dior had been in the position to offer her and her children a life of incomparable luxury. Eärendil sighed. Maybe if he had been more aware of the political situation on Beleriand, he would have thought twice about it, but at the time there had been no indication of trouble. He had only wanted what was best for his children…

His thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the com.

“Captain Eärendil, we are receiving a transmission. It’s… It’s the Vice-President.”

“Send it to my office.”

If Vice-President Varda considered this situation important enough to contact him, a lowly starship captain, personally…

“Greetings, Captain Eärendil.”

He bent his head in respect. Vice-President Varda was one of the most influential members of the Counsel of Arda, and she was considered the second most powerful person in this part of the universe. For her to speak to him directly… it was as much an honour as it was terrifying.

“Greetings, Vice-President.”

“Raise your head.”

Eärendil couldn’t help but tremble when facing Varda. She was frighteningly beautiful, but her intense eyes were cold and her expression completely emotionless when she spoke.

“The Council recognizes your loss and praises your efforts to safeguard the Silmaril. It has been decided that you are to travel to Aman immediately, where it will be taken off your hands. Under no condition the stasis capsule is to be opened on your ship. Keep exposure of your crew to it to the bare minimum, and make no stops along the way. We will be expecting you.”

She didn’t wait for him to answer, ending the transmission before he even had the chance to open his mouth. Eärendil closed his eyes, feeling a powerless anger. There were people on Beleriand who needed their help, if both Doriath and Port Sirion had fallen to the forces of the O.A.T.H. there would be thousands of refugees, he couldn’t even imagine the bloodbath it must have been… and his children, his Eru-damned children had been there, they could still be alive among the refugees, all alone without their mother, traumatized by the deaths of their family… And the only thing the Council considered was that stupid Silmaril. The Captain clenched his fists. Elwing hadn’t even wanted to save the damn thing! If an automated escape pod hadn’t beamed her and that capsule up… Eärendil took a deep breath, trying to calm his anger. Bashing his desk wouldn’t bring his children back, nor would it restore Elwing’s family or remove that accursed object from his cargo bay. There was nothing to do but follow orders, and hope that after delivering the thing, they would be able to find a measure of peace…

* * *

 

“We’re setting course for Aman.”

“What?”

Elwing stared at him with wide eyes. Eärendil held up his hands in defeat.

“I received a transmission from Vice-President Varda herself, there is nothing I could do. She wouldn’t even let me say something, let alone object!”

“And you’re just going to bend your head and follow orders?”

“I have to! Don’t you understand we have no choice?”

Elwing looked as if she was ready to growl at him.

“Do you want to know what I understand? I understand that you don’t give a DAMN about our family! You don’t even give a damn about your home world anymore! You’re so used to drift along the stars in this STUPID ship that everything that isn’t stars and vacuum simply doesn’t interest you anymore!”

“You are not being fair, Elwing. I do care. I did all I could, I came as soon as I heard the news, there was no…”

“As soon as you heard the news? YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE, ERUDAMMIT! THEY WERE YOUR CHILDREN TOO!”

“Elwing…”

“You don’t know what it was like! How ruthless, how easily they destroyed everything, killed everyone! My mother! My father! My baby brothers, Eärendil! They were only children, for fuck’s sake, they didn’t do anything wrong! Those elves would slay their own mother if she were hiding a Silmaril from them! You weren’t there, so don’t you dare say that you did all you could, Eärendil. Don’t you dare say it!”

He had heard stories. Of course he had heard stories, there was hardly anyone who hadn’t heard of the Organisation Against Totalitarian Hostilities, or in short, the OATH. Originally a rebel group fighting the dictatorial threat of warlord Morgoth Bauglir and his armies, the OATH had become a renegade band of war-crazed criminals and terrorists, feared by friends and enemies alike... Or at least, that was one version of the events. Eärendil didn’t quite know what to think of it. The leaders of the movement were all outlawed and due for an eternal stay in the Mandos Prison Colony if apprehended, a sentence not easily earned… but he was well aware of the hypocrisy of the Council of Arda, and often wondered if there wasn’t more to the OATH than commonly known.

Those thoughts he couldn’t share with his hysteric wife, of course.

“What do you expect me to do then? Ignore the Council? Hand over that blasted thing to the enemy? Go back and… and…”

Elwing sobbed.

“T-They killed our children, Eärendil.”

“Perhaps they got away, you don’t know that…”

“They were with me when it happened. I…” She cried in her hands, “I will never be able to erase their faces from my mind. They looked so lost, so… so betrayed… I betrayed our children, Eärendil. I s-should have stayed and fought for them…”

Eärendil wrapped his arms around her and softly rocked her.

“You couldn’t help it. You had no choice in what happened, and you are not at fault for this.”

“Elrond… Elros…”

“We don’t know for sure if they are dead, and I feel in my fëa that they aren’t. We have to keep faith.”

“All my family… they’re all gone… My home…”

“I know.”

Eärendil did know, he knew well enough what it was like to lose your home to war. Quietly he rubbed his wife’s back and held her close. They stayed like that for a while, holding on to each other and the faint hope that their children were still alive somewhere… 

* * *

 

In the cargo bay stood a cylindrical, opaque white pod. It looked so innocent, so harmless; it was hard to imagine that it was the cause of such strife…

“How did you even come in possession of it?”

Elwing bit her lip.

“My father… When they attacked, he gave it to me, made me swear to keep it safe. I begged him to just give it to them, to save the city and himself, but he wouldn’t listen to reason.” She glared at the capsule with pure hatred in her eyes. “That thing poisons the minds of everyone who owns it.”

Eärendil pensively looked at the stasis pod. Maybe the Council wanted them to stay away from it for a reason…

“Father killed one, you know.”

“One…?”

“One of the Oathbound. And he wasn’t the only one to do so. When I left the palace, there was another one of them lying dead on the floor of the central hall. Amidst others, but… It was unmistakably one of them. And there were others too who reported to have killed one… We foolishly hoped that we had gotten all of them, and that they would cease pursuit now their leaders were gone.” Tears ran over her face as she remembered. “Oh Eru how we were wrong…”

“Sssh…”

“I wish I could destroy that thing. I wish I could harm it like it has harmed us!”

Elwing tore loose from Eärendil’s embrace and kicked the stasis pod, hard.

“Elwing!”

Eärendil restrained her before she could kick it again.

“We just have to bring it to Aman, and then it’ll be gone from our life. Please try to control yourself until then, okay?”

He led his wife out of the cargo bay and ordered for it to be hermetically sealed. No one would be brought in contact with the Thing on this trip if he could avoid it…

Unfortunately… some things are simply unavoidable. 

* * *

 

The alarm sounding through the bridge startled everyone.

“The sealed compartment on cargo deck has been breached.”

Eärendil cursed something ugly.

“Dammit! Who?!”

“Identity unknown.”

“There IS no such thing on this ship as “Identity Unknown”, computer. Everyone is in your fucking database! Who is it?”

“Identity unknown.”

Eärendil felt himself tremble. Was it a glitch? The ship’s computer system was not exactly perfectly calibrated… But what he had said was true. The crew of the Vingilot was extremely small and everyone’s signature had been uploaded into the system, and the identification program had never malfunctioned before… With the alarm was still blaring through the bridge, he yelled,

“Engineering, send someone down to the cargo bay to check on the sealed compartment. Report immediately!”

* * *

 

The cargo bay door was breached indeed, and quite literally at that. Chief Engineer Mahal raised his eyebrows at the sight of the demolished hatch, which was now nothing more but a heap of mangled, half-molten metal hanging loosely in its hinges.

“Status?”

Shaking his head, he confirmed,

“The compartment is breached indeed, Sir. The door is practically blasted out; I don’t know how this happened. We have nothing aboard that could have caused an explosion like this.”

“And the cargo?”

He knew about the Thing, everyone aboard the Vingilot knew about it, but he hadn't seen it when it was brought in. Mahal curiously peeked inside the compartment. It was empty, apart from two strange white half-cylinders... Right when he wanted to describe what he saw, a threatening voice sounded behind him, crystalline as well as low and resonant…

“Where am I, and who is holding me captive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, welcome to the weirdness…
> 
> Arda in this story is a confederation of planets. With other words, Beleriand is a planet and not a continent. Other place names (like the Mithlond Space Dock and the Mandos Prison Colony) also have to be interpreted like this.  
> The "U.S.S." prefix-thing stands for United (confederation of arda) Space Ship, similar to how ships in Star Trek are named. 
> 
> The Valar here are the Council of Arda, with Manwë as the president and Varda as the Vice-President. And they are, just like real politicians, a bunch of hypocrites.  
> The Fëanorions are in this world known as the Oathbound, leaders of the O.A.T.H. (Organization Against Totalitarian Hostilities). The reason that Eärendil doesn't hate them despite what they did to his wife and children is because they're not only distantly related to them, he has also been in the space equivalent of Gondolin and knows that the horrors of Morgoth need to be fought against, and the O.A.T.H. is currently the only group actively taking up arms against him. 
> 
> Chief Engineer Mahal does not have Vala powers here, but he's a force to be reckoned with in the engine room… 
> 
> Feedback, please? Please?


	2. The Thing Has A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mess that is Eärendil's life just keeps growing and growing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A rather late) Merry Christmas to everybody!

“Eru be damned…”

It had to be the Thing, Chief-Engineer Mahal thought to himself. The thought only slowly filtered through the astonishment. About a metre from him stood a wondrous female-looking creature; she was pale and luminous as the stars, emanating a bright glow that pulsated under her skin as if it was her very blood and breath. Her waist-length hair shimmered in brilliant silver and gold, and a translucent gown barely covered her luscious form. She was surrounded by an otherworldly aura of power, and the fierce light of her glaring eyes was so strong Mahal could barely stand to look straight at them. She repeated the question, with more force this time.

“Where am I, and who is holding me captive!?”

Her voice echoed and resonated around the engineer, and she threateningly advanced on him, the temperature of her glow quickly rising to unpleasant heights. Realizing he was at risk of ending in the same way as the mangled cargo bay door, Mahal stuttered,

“You a-are on t-the starship Vingilot… Y-you are n-not, well, I don’t think you are, being held captive by anyone…"

The creature seemed unconvinced, but at least the heat receded somewhat.

“I was held in an empty, sealed off compartment. Captivity was the only logical explanation. Are you in charge of this vessel?”

“I am not. The ship is under command of captain Eärendil.”

The glow suddenly turned from threatening, to almost elated.

“Eärendil half-elven, husband to Elwing granddaughter of Luthien?”

“That’s the one. Are you…”

She did not let him finish.

“Bring me to your captain. Now.”

Her commanding voice left no room for objection…

* * *

Right when the engineer had described the damage done to the cargo bay hatch, electromagnetic interference of unknown origin had started jamming the communications, making it impossible to get a message through or hear what was going on. Bringing the ship in a state of alert –even though they had only the most rudimentary weapons aboard and no special security measures- had been all Eärendil could do, and now they were all waiting in stress. Elwing stood next to him, and she held his hand tight while her other clutched a plasma-sword she had never been trained to use. The other bridge officers were all staring at the doors, awaiting whatever was coming for them.

Mentally, captain Eärendil ran through all the possible causes of the breach, space pirates being the scariest and foremost of them. Last time they had crossed paths with the freighter Ithil, Captain Tillion had warned them that Morgoth had armed and equipped space pirates to attack civilian vessels on Arda’s trade routes and disturb the traffic between the worlds of the confederation… It wasn’t too far-fetched to think that the Dark Imperator had heard of the Silmaril making it off Beleriand unscathed, and had ordered his troops to attack all vessels on the routes to Aman in search of it… If that was the case, Eärendil doubted that his wife’s plasma-sword would make any difference. He did wonder why pirates would do the effort to approach, dock and board the ship completely unnoticed, something that even with the Vingilot’s decrepit computer system required high technology and a lot of stealth and cunning… only to breach the cargo bay in a way that could not possibly go undetected. It seemed highly inefficient to him. But if it weren’t pirates… what was it? Not for the first time, Eärendil rued his decision to leave Mithlond without sufficient weaponry aboard…

After what seemed like an eternity of nerve-wracking waiting, the doors slid open… and no disgusting space orc could have frightened him more than what now entered the bridge. The beautiful glowing creature was simultaneously fascinating and petrifying, and everyone was shocked into silence by the mere sight of it. Yet right when the creature opened its mouth to speak, Eärendil heard the characteristic “dzing” of a plasma sword being activated. Elwing’s face had contorted in rage.

“IT EVEN LOOKS LIKE THEM!”

Eärendil had to use all his force to keep his furious wife next to him, and realized that giving her the sword might not have been his best idea ever. But then, not many of his ideas qualified for that title these days. Elwing screamed at him.

“Eärendil let me go! Let me finish that thing!”

Seeing no other solution, he called upon his position as a captain, something he was quite certain she would not let him live down if they survived this.

“Commander Elwing, CONTROL YOURSELF! You are not in your private quarters here, behave yourself like the senior officer you are!”

Elwing lowered her sword, but not without sending a scathing glare at him. Meanwhile, the glow of the creature that Eärendil assumed was the Silmaril had gained a hue that he could only describe as “offended”.

“It?”  Her voice rang through the bridge, giving everyone the shivers. “That Thing?”

Eärendil coughed awkwardly.

“Err… Miss… Lady Silmaril… euhm… My wife is simply distraught, she…”

His apprehensive attempt at apologizing clearly did not appease the creature, or his wife for that matter.

“Do you like to be referred to as Captain Half-Elven? Or was your father commonly known as “Lord Man”, perhaps? Did they call your mother “Lady Elf”?”

“Err…”

“I AM a Silmaril, but I DO have a name, and I shall NOT stand for being referred to as a Thing!”

The temperature was rising noticeably on the bridge, and Eärendil sweated from more than just stress. Recognizing he had to calm the Silmaril down before she cooked them alive, he asked as politely as he could,

“Then… Then what is your name?”

Hearing his request she seemed to stand a little taller, and there was unmistakably pride in her voice when she answered him.

“My name is Silvána Vilyamíriel Fëanáriel, Second Daughter of the House of Fëanáro Curufinwë.”

The temperature dropped, and Eärendil was just about to breathe in relief for having averted a crisis when Elwing spoke up, no longer screaming but with unhidden hostility in her voice. She glared at the Silmaril.

“You speak about your house as if there is any pride left to take in its name. Do you pride yourself in belonging to a house of murderers, Fëanáriel? Does it please you to bear the face of a madman?”

Everyone held his breath… But the Silmaril didn’t erupt in anger. Her voice was eerily calm when she said,

“The likeness I bear to my father shall forever bring me joy for it is all I have left of him, and until the day my sisters and I lay down our lives, I shall take pride in his name and house. My family’s deeds may grieve me deeply and keep me from re-joining them until that very day, but shame will not cloud my heart, not now, and not ever.”

She walked up to Elwing and touched the glowing plasma sword by the blade before the elven commander could stop her. She moved her fingers through the blue plasma and remained completely unharmed. With a downcast voice she said,

“You cannot destroy me, Elwing daughter of Dior… and my heart mourns that you wish you could.”

With that she retracted her hand from the sword, turned around, and simply walked out of the bridge without another word. They watched her leave, and not until the last bit of her strange glow had disappeared down the corridor did Eärendil find his voice again. He turned at his wife, angry.

“You could have killed us all! What came into your mind?! That woman is powerful beyond words, Elwing!”

Defiantly she scowled at him.

“That mockery of flesh and breath is no more a woman to me than a stone statue.”

Eärendil hated this. She was challenging his authority, knowing wel enough that it placed him in a difficult position. Professionally he was her superior, but as husband and wife they were equals, and whatever he did as a Captain to his Second In Command would influence what she did as a wife to her husband. No matter how many times they talked it over, he always felt conflicted when berating her and she couldn’t help holding his reprimands against him. He sighed. Either way, he had no choice. This concerned more than just the two of them, she was bringing the ship in danger.

“Commander Elwing, you are hereby suspended from all formal duties until further notice. Please leave the bridge and retreat to your quarters.”

She didn’t say anything, but her expression told him enough. If the bridge hadn't had sliding doors, she would have slammed them at exit. Captain Eärendil sank in his chair, feeling not a little despondent. Elwing was grieving, and she shouldn’t have been at work in the first place given the state she was in, but the Vingilot had been undermanned from the start and he had had no one to replace her with. Not to mention that if he would give leave to everyone who was grieving, he would have to do without three quarters of his crew, he himself included. All he could hope for now was that Elwing would use her suspension to recover and rest, and not nurse a grudge against him for scolding her so publicly…

The remnants of the bridge crew –helmsman Voronwë, com officer Daeron, and science officer Nimrodel- all sent him worried yet sympathetic looks. Eventually he sighed,

“Voronwë, how long until we reach the nebula?”

The older elf looked apologetically at his captain.

“Unless Mahal can work a miracle with the engines, it’ll be months still. At least six, and that is assuming we can maintain top speed.”

Months. Six Months if they travelled non-stop at top speed, something Eärendil knew well enough was unattainable for a ship like his. The Vingilot was built for endurance, not speed. She was of sturdy make and had survived more than one meteorite storm or plasma front without extensive damage, but what the designers had spent extra on hull strength and structural integrity, they had pared on engines and weapons. Given that the Vingilot was a research vessel and not a battleship that had never been a problem… until now. It would take them at least nine months to reach the Shadowy Nebula that separated Aman from the rest of Arda’s planets, and in the meantime they barely had the means to defend themselves against dangers, Morgoth’s space pirates not being the least of those. And now he also had a severely upset wife, no Second-In-Command anymore, and an Eru-damned living Silmaril on his ship. There were simply no words to describe the magnitude of the mess his life was at the moment…

* * *

Communications Officer Daeron remembered very well how he had ended up aboard the Vingilot, but the time before that was a little blurry in his recollection. He had left Beleriand in shame, travelled the many set routes of Arda aboard freighters and trade caravans, and hitchhiked his way through the confederation until he had ended up on Lindon somehow. He had been sick at the time, severely malnourished and on the edge of fading. He had no longer known if he was searching for something, or running away from something else… He might have died there, if not for Círdan. The famous engineer had found him and helped him recover, and when he had learned how many languages and dialects his protégé spoke and wrote fluently, he had offered him a job in the trade offices of the Mithlond Spacedocks. Despite the invention of computerized Universal Translation, many people still preferred a translator of flesh and blood for negotiations and trade accords, and so he had been able to earn himself a proper living.

For a couple years he had lived like a hermit, only leaving his small apartment to go to work or meet with Círdan… and then one day the engineer had told him of a friend in need of a communications officer for a long-term mission. The pay would be less than what he made as a translator –he was one of the best, after all- but he would get to travel far beyond the common trade routes, see interesting parts of the universe, perhaps even learn a new language or two along the way… It hadn’t been an unappealing idea. He had no family and basically no friends or obligations, so he could easily sign up for a mission of multiple years… and, so he had hoped, he might find some peace of mind on the long journey. About a month later, the Vingilot had left the Spacedock with him aboard.

His shock and fear had been enormous when he had realized that the Second-In-Command of the Vingilot was Elwing, granddaughter of Luthien. Círdan had set him up –of course, what else should he have expected from that ancient rascal- and gotten him stuck on the same ship as the descendants of his long-lost obsession, for at least three years and possibly more. It could have been a living nightmare –and it had been, for a couple weeks- but over time he had been able to put certain things behind him, and even though he and Elwing had never openly spoken about anything, he had finally found a measure of peace. But it had been a fragile peace, and it had shattered completely when the transmission about the O.A.T.H. attack on Beleriand had reached them. It had brought everything back. And now they had a Silmaril on their ship. THAT Silmaril, the one whose freedom from Morgoth he had inadvertently had a hand in, a glowing, living reminder of his shame and betrayal.

Daeron couldn’t look his captain in the face. Guilt was crushing him…

* * *

Elwing had shut him out of their shared quarters, so instead of arguing with his currently extremely angry spouse, he went in search of the Silmaril. Asking the computer about the “Unknown Identity” led him to the cargo deck…

“Lady Silvána? Can… can I come in?”

A mirthless laugh resounded.

“Of course you can. It’s your ship, isn’t it?”

The Silmaril sat in a corner of the further empty space, with her knees to her chest. Her glow was subdued and gloomy, a far cry from the proud splendour she had radiated at the bridge. In all honesty, she looked… well, miserable, actually, if it was possible for a Silmaril to look or feel that way. Eärendil hesitatingly said,

“You… you don’t have to stay here, I will have a room prepared for you, it’s not…”

She interrupted him before he could finish.

“Your cargo bay will suffice. I require no sleep, no sustenance, and no comfort… not even the air I breathe is truly necessary for my continued existence. I will bother you no more than any other payload would.”

She didn’t look at him, kept her eyes stubbornly on the floor.

“My wife insulted you, but that doesn’t mean…”

“She was right. I am not alive. I am merely a Thing. The only people who didn’t think so are dead or doomed or both.”

“I don’t think you are merely a thing.”

She snorted disbelievingly.

“You do. You only show me consideration out of fear for what I can do to your ship and crew, not because you see me as a person deserving of said consideration. I am a thing to you too, but a thing that you have to watch out for.”

Eärendil’s silence spoke volumes… Eventually he said,

“I didn’t know. We were told that the Silmarils were alive, but I didn’t imagine…”

“That we’d be this alive?” A scowl graced her sharp features when she gestured to herself. “Yes, that surprised a lot of people. I can imagine it’s not a widely broadcasted fact in this part of Arda. It tends to raise nasty questions.”

“Is there anything I…”

Coolly, the Silmaril said,

“I will not harm you, or your crew, or your ship. And I apologize for demolishing your door. I will repair it, if you want me to. That should cover most of your concerns. Unless there is something I forgot to mention, could you please leave me alone now?”

“You will… repair it?”

She looked at him now, eyes blazing with angry fire.

“I am a daughter of Fëanor. Do you really think restoring a simple cargo hatch is above my abilities?”

If what he had heard of the illustrious leader of the O.A.T.H. was true, his creations -daughters- had certainly inherited his temper, Eärendil thought. He quickly shook his head.

“Of course not. List what materials you need and I will see to it that they are delivered to you.”

He didn't receive an answer. She was staring at the floor again, pointedly ignoring him. For this Silmaril, the conversation was obviously over. When he left the room, Eärendil felt like bashing his head against the wall. This mess just kept growing and growing…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we learn a bit more about the Silmaril, mostly that she has a bit *sarcastic cough* of a temper, and that she despite everything takes great pride in her family. The Silmarils look a lot like Fëanor, but with awesome blonde hair that definitely beats Galadriel's. They are really beautiful. And scary.  
> This Silmaril is the one that "lived" with Luthien and Beren until they both died, and she must have been excited to meet their descendant… but Elwing is not particularly fond of the Silmarils at the moment, as you may have noticed. (Poor Silmaril.)  
> Silvána means something like "Shining Beautiful One", and Vilyamíriel (air-jewel-daughter) is a father-name in the style of the "Something-Finwë" names that are common among the children of Fëanor, but based on Míriel's name rather than Finwë's because the Silmarils are female. (Also, "jewel-daughter" seemed like a good suffix for naming a Silmaril.)
> 
> Elwing is a bit very dramatic, I know. But do realize that she has recently lost her children. She is also related to Elu Thingol, who did have a sense of drama. 
> 
> And we also learn about Communications Officer Daeron, who has some serious issues… 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! All feedback is appreciated! Also, I'll try to answer any questions as well as possible.


	3. Engineering More Drama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Silmaril has inherited more from her father than his face and his temper, tension runs high aboard the ship, and Science Officer Nimrodel gives a sulking Elwing a much needed wake-up call…

_Captain’s Log, stardate 538.9_

_The Silmaril has taken up residence in the ship’s cargo bay. She has repaired the broken hatch herself and the former damage is barely visible anymore; I myself am not particularly knowledgeable on matters of mechanics, but I have it on the good authority of Chief Engineer Mahal that the work is astoundingly well done. Further her behaviour has been remarkably unobtrusive. The situation aboard remains tense though. Quarrels between Mahal’s Noldor assistants and Sub-Commander Nimrodel’s Sindar scientists are rife, and even escalated into a violent encounter when crewmember Aryatan punched crewmember Bellaew for a particularly vile remark about kinslayers. Both parties have been reprimanded. Also, Commander Elwing has requested separate quarters. The… the request has been granted._

“Computer, stop recording.” 

Elwing no longer wanted to share a room with him. Eärendil stared at his empty desk, not trusting himself to keep his voice even if he were to say more. Even now he could hardly fathom it; his mind kept causally omitting the fact from his thoughts, subconsciously denying its finality. Every morning at waking his arm automatically reached out for her only to find a cold spot next to him.  Every time he walked into the bridge he expected to see her at her station, reading reports or sending complaints to Engineering, only to meet an empty chair and the concerned looks of his colleagues. And every time it hurt all over again. A shiver ran down Eärendil’s spine. He felt chilled and his fingers were stiff with cold. That couldn’t be normal… Frowning, he rubbed them warm again.

“Computer, turn up the heat please.”

The Silmaril’s outbursts of sudden hotness had probably deregulated the ship’s temperature control. He would have to get Engineering to take a look at the thermostat…

* * *

“I would almost understand it if you came to gawk at me,” Silvána drawled, “ I’m supposedly a famous artefact after all. But what interest you have in that door completely eludes me.”

Chief Engineer Mahal hadn’t been able to resist the urge to take another look at the Silmaril’s handiwork, and so he found himself in the cargo bay again, curiously testing the hinges of the repaired hatch. From a corner of the room, the glowing female observed his antics. At her unexpected comment, Mahal straightened himself.

“I am simply admiring your work, Lady Silvána. I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“Oh, do stay if you feel like it. Although that door is hardly a thing to write home about… I fear for the state of this ship if the sight of properly working hinges can astonish you like this.”

Mahal grinned apologetically.

“The ship is not in pristine condition, that much is true… She’s like an old human lady that has less teeth and more arthritis every time she goes to the healer’s.”

The Silmaril cocked her head to the side.

“Arthritis. Luthien suffered from that in her last years as well. Although I don’t recall her losing any teeth.” She looked straight at Mahal now. “Are many things malfunctioning in the ship?”

He shrugged, somewhat surprised by her willingness to communicate with him. She had ignored everyone else who came to see her…

“Well, yes. I don’t like to say it, but the ship is in dire need of full maintenance. Tons of little things are starting to give away with age and need frequent repairs. If it were up to me I would replace the crystal matrix, the conductor coils, 70% of the ship’s internal electronics, and definitely that faulty food replicator… but as long as we are out in open space we just have to make do.”

“And do you? Make do, I mean.”

The engineer shrugged again.

“We try. You’d think that three engineers is enough to keep a ship like this up and running, but it’s a constant battle against burned circuitry, loose cables, and a machine that thinks coffee has the consistency of wax and orange juice is pink.”

The Silmaril’s glow had a definitely “amused” tint to it now, and a small half-smile curled her lips.

“I understand that the food replicator is an often recurring source of complaints?”

Mahal laughed.

“You have no idea. That thing haunts my nightmares! I don’t have the parts needed to properly repair it, so all we can do is make some superficial fixes and brace ourselves for the next time it serves blue bread.”

“And the food is edible?”

“Of course, all meals contain the same mix of essential nutrients, the machine simply puts them in a more agreeable form.” With a grin he added, “At least that’s what it’s supposed to do. The machine and the crew have a different perception of “agreeable”, it seems.”

The engineer was more than a little amazed that talking to the Silmaril went so effortlessly, as from what he had seen and heard she didn’t have the easiest or most pleasant of characters. However, the terrifying aura of power that had made him stumble over his words before was gone now, and the warm light she radiated had nothing threatening to it. He wondered if she was really okay with sleeping on the floor of the cargo bay, and doing nothing but sitting around and ignoring people all day. She seemed like a lady used to more… refined situations.

“Ah, now you are staring at me. For a moment there I thought I had lost my talent.”

Mahal blinked a couple times.

“I’m sorry. I just wondered if you don’t mind having nothing to do all day, just sitting…” he gestured around himself, “Well, here. It’s not the best spot on the ship, really.”

“I’ve had worse.”

Her remark was careless and her face stoic, but her glow seemed to dim as if the mere words brought back unpleasant memories. She turned her face away from him, and Mahal wondered if he had insulted her. Trying to cheer her up, he said,

“You know, if you ever feel like going out, you’re welcome in the engine room. Just saying.”

She didn’t answer him, and didn’t turn back to face him. Apparently she no longer wished to talk. The Chief-Engineer shrugged and left the cargo bay, closing the hatch behind him. He didn’t mind the Silmaril’s somewhat rude way of putting an end to the conversation, he was too pragmatic to fuss about things like that. The girl was technically another species; one didn’t expect men to behave like elves either, so Mahal saw no reason to impose his norms of politeness on the Silmaril. Besides, she was a daughter of Fëanor, and Fëanor alone at that… complete normalcy could hardly be expected from that stock, could it?

He would have forgotten the conversation, if not for the bizarre find he did a couple days later. An electronic notepad that certainly wasn't his lay prominently in the middle of his desk, and when he activated it he found that someone –and really, it didn’t take much to figure out who- had solved his food replicator problem. She had gone through all the ship’s blueprints to find expendable pieces of electronics in the ship’s computer system that could, following the instructions she had added, be turned into a much-needed spare part for the replicator. As it was written down it looked simple enough, but the looks deceived. Mahal knew his craft well enough to tell that between the loose bits of nonessential circuitry and the new spare part sat the insight and technical knowledge of a truly brilliant mind...

Later that day, he went to the cargo bay to thank her, but she blatantly ignored him, stoically staring at the wall. The only reaction she gave was when he proposed to tell Eärendil about it; that glare could not be misinterpreted. And so the food replicator was repaired, and no one suspected that someone other than Mahal had come up with the solution. Taking credit for another’s work never ceased to make the Chief-Engineer uncomfortable, but he tried to respect the Silmaril’s wishes.

Silvána’s input in the Vingilot’s ever-on-going maintenance didn’t end with just the food replicator though. Throughout the ship things mysteriously began “repairing themselves”; old cooling liquid conduits were replaced overnight, various programs inexplicably increased in efficiency, one of Nimrodel’s scientists suddenly found his telescope recalibrated in the morning, a loose bulkhead was expertly welded back in place without someone having contacted Engineering about it… and that wasn’t even mentioning the friendly “suggestions” for more complex projects that Mahal kept finding on his desk. The strange coincidences added up, and the Chief Engineer wondered how long he would be able to cover for the Silmaril if she continued like this. Why couldn’t she just stop sulking and take credit for what she did? If anything, it would make his life so much easier…

* * *

The corridors were always sparsely lit during the sleeping hours; it was necessary to create a day/night rhythm on lengthy space trips like this one. Silvána also suspected that the darkness was a way to save energy and spare the ship’s timeworn power crystals. Mahal certainly hadn’t exaggerated when he said that the crystal matrix was in dire need of replacement, as it looked now it was doubtful that they would even reach the Shadowy Nebula with it, let alone Aman. Silvána didn’t know what she hoped for; that the matrix would give out and stop them from bringing her to Aman, or that it would hold and have them reach her father’s home world soon.

_Better to have it over with quickly. Delaying the inevitable will only make it worse._

The empty, badly lit walkways gave the ship a desolate feeling, as if she was all alone in it… And even though she knew that behind the various doors she passed people were sleeping, the feeling remained. Here, on this ship, amidst all these people… she was alone.

_It isn’t right. I was never meant to be alone. I am One-Of-Three. We weren’t supposed to be apart, ever. This alone-ness is suffocating me._

Silvána knew that most people possessed the ability to live in their own imagination while their hröa slept and healed. Dreaming, they called it.  When she was younger, it had fascinated her to no end, mostly because she hadn’t understood it. How did one dream? And why? In her youthful eagerness she had attempted to imitate them, lying down on her bed and unfocusedly staring into the distance without blinking… but whatever it was that brought such a peaceful, happy smile to their lips when doing that, it hadn’t worked for her. She remembered very well how devastated she had been that there existed a skill she couldn’t seem to master… 

Her father had comforted her, and patiently explained that dreaming was the elves’ way of processing the information they absorbed during the day, while giving their hröa the rest it needed. He had compared it to some of the machines in his workshop, that couldn’t remain operational all the time because they required recalibration every so often or were in danger of overheating. Recalling it now, Silvána smiled wryly. He had done that often, comparing people to machines when explaining something. Back then she had believed it was because he didn’t want them to feel so different… but now she often thought that it was because he had truly seen them like that, as machines. Makeable, destructible, and in the end, expendable. Maybe, in a way, Fëanor had understood the world no better than she and her sisters had.   

_I’m so sorry, Atto. For everything. I miss you. I miss you so much._

She had never dreamed back in Aman, even though she had “slept” quite often, mostly because everyone else did it and she had desperately wanted to be like everyone else. All her attempts at dreaming had been futile however, because her mind had never had any unprocessed information to work with.

_If only that were true now… I wish I no longer felt it in the back of my mind, that cancerous lump of data that I can’t seem to analyse or order. I wish I could tell my mind to stop trying, so that I don’t have to go through it again and again, every time I close my eyes. I wish I could still sleep without dreams._

As long as she did things, made things, fixed and improved things no matter how small or unimportant, she was safe. Her mind needed to be occupied with something. 

_Is this why you so rarely slept, Atto? Is this why you were always in your workshop in the middle of the night? Were you too running away from rather than working towards something?_

Silvána crouched down at a place where Mahal had removed a piece of the wall plating, probably with the intent to begin repairing tomorrow –but possibly because he knew she would pass there, you never knew- and took a look at the electronic innards of the wall. Her trained eye immediately spotted the place where the isolation around the cables had given away and brought them in danger of short-circuiting. That was easy enough to fix… A few moments later, she had pushed the melancholia from her mind in favour of the task at hands.

* * *

Elwing was angry. No, angry didn’t quite cover it. She was furious. How dare Eärendil choose that Thing over her, his wife and the mother of his children? It must have bewitched him, as it had her father and great-grandfather. Elwing fumed. That trice-cursed Silmaril had taken everything from her: her home, her family, her children, and now her husband too. And since the Thing was literally indestructible, there was nothing she could do about it. Oh, if that Silmaril were an elf as any other, she would have become a kinslayer ten times over already... She was broken from her thoughts by the beeping of the door com. Angrily she answered,

“What?”

“Elwing, it’s me, Nimrodel.”

Science Officer Nimrodel was one of the many lost souls that had ended up stranded in Mithlond to become one of Círdan’s protégées. She was an excellent exo-biologist, and one could wonder why someone with her skill had found herself destitute and lost on Lindon… Either way, Elwing knew that they were lucky to have her; Nimrodel wasn’t only exceptionally knowledgeable but also wise and even-tempered, traits that couldn’t be underestimated in the explosive mix of young elves looking for adventure and old elves on the run for their past that was the Vingilot’s crew. Nevertheless, she had never really liked the elleth. Despite her calm demeanour, Nimrodel was secretive, reclusive, and rarely approved of anyone. Elwing wondered what the science officer could possibly want from her…

“What do you want?”

“I brought food.”

In all her anger she had indeed forgotten to eat. Suspiciously, she asked,

“What colour is it?”

“It’s rice and steamed fish, and it looks pretty much like what it is. The colours are surprisingly normal.” There was a short silence, before the Science Officer continued, “I’ll put it in front of your door, okay?”

“Wait.”

Elwing opened the door for her –former- right hand, and Nimrodel came in with two covered plates of food, fresh from the replicator. The suspended First Officer frowned when she saw that.

“You knew I was going to let you in.”

“Of course. You look terrible, by the way.”

Elwing scowled.

“Thank you, that was exactly what I needed to hear to make this day better.”

Nimrodel set down the plates on the table and shook her head.

“I meant what I said. When was the last time you slept?”

Elwing sighed and frowned.

“I slept yesterday. I think.”

The Sylvan elleth shook her head.

“Here, at least eat something.” Elwing lifted the cover of her plate, and reluctantly started eating. For a while, they said nothing. Then the Science Officer remarked, after swallowing a bit of rice, “Eärendil is miserable, you know.”

“Good.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do. Let him feel miserable, that’ll teach him about picking a glowing machine over his own wife.”

She angrily thrust her fork into the fish, and Nimrodel shook her head again.

“He didn’t pick her over you, he picked the safety of the ship over you. You feel threatened by the Silmaril’s presence here, but that’s mostly your doing, not hers.”

“I see. So you’ve fallen for it as well.”

“There is nothing to fall for. The Silmaril ignores everyone and never leaves the cargo bay. She does not manipulate anyone into anything.”

“So you’re saying it’s all in my head, is that it?”

Nimrodel sent her a determined look.

“Yes. And you have every right to mourn and be angry, Elwing, but not like this. The world does not revolve around you and it’s about time you realize that. You may have been a princess on Beleriand, but here you have responsibilities that go beyond primping yourself and making others cater to your every whim. Behave like it.”

Elwing’s mouth fell open in indignation at the sudden verbal assault. This was the very last thing she had expected from Nimrodel, of all people... Her plate clattered to the floor when she jumped up.

“How dare you! How dare you say such a thing to me! I have lost my children! I have lost my home and my family and everything I held dear! Who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do? What would you know of mourning? You don’t even HAVE children! You don’t have a husband! You have no one!”

Nimrodel had turned pale at that outburst, but her eyes shone bright in anger as she got up.

“Yes, I have no one indeed, and why do you think that it, Princess Elwing? Mourning and loss is all I know, and I know it in ways that you can’t even imagine. You think you have lost all you held dear, but you haven’t. You have no idea what it’s like to have no one at all, to be completely alone. You are selfish, Elwing. You have a husband who loves you more than his own life, and you make him suffer without a second thought because you can’t see beyond yourself and your own pain. Do you think Eärendil doesn’t mourn for the twins? Weren’t they his children too? He is sick with grief, Elwing.”

Nimrodel’s eyes were full of disgust as she glared at her former superior.

“You hole yourself up here to pout, wallow in self-pity, and nurse a grudge against that Silmaril –who is, even though I don’t approve of her, guilty of nothing other than existing- while your husband wastes away before our eyes. And then you have the guts to say that you have lost all you held dear. Wake up and look around you! You aren’t the only person who is in pain!”

Elwing stared at the usually so calm and collected science officer, opening ehr mouth and closing it again in dumbstruck silence She had wanted to yell that it wasn’t fair, that it just wasn’t fair, and that it shouldn’t be like this and that she didn’t deserve this, that she hadn't done anything to deserve this... but as soon as she opened her mouth she realized that that would only emphasise Nimrodel's point. The science officer shook her head.

“Nothing to say to that now have you, Princess Elwing? Well, here’s my advice. Grow the fuck up, and try for once in your life to think about someone other than yourself. Maybe then you’ll be able to fix this.”

With that, the Sylvan strode out of the room, leaving Elwing shaking and perplexed. Had she really ignored Eärendil’s grieving? It seemed unlikely to her. Eärendil was always the strong one, the rational and detached one. She didn’t think she had ever seen him cry, not once. He was like an immovable rock in the river of life’s troubles, withstanding everything with the same unshakable determination. She couldn’t imagine him breaking down… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter! This story is my drama-and-relations practice, I'm trying to get the hang of underlying tension and the like. 
> 
> Silvana is a daughter of Fëanor, and not only has she inherited his genius, she has also had the best education in all things technological you could possibly wish for. Hence why she is interested to tinker with the ship a bit. And because she isn't just brilliant but also a very troubled individual, she gets her bearings by secretly repairing stuff at night. 
> 
> As for Elwing and Eärendil's relationship trouble, they're far from solved. Eärendil is stoic and far too good at holding himself together in the face of trouble for his own good, and Elwing is a very irrational, emotion-driven person prone to violent outbursts, and with everything that is going on they're just… lost. I thought Elwing was acting very much like a petulant child in this story, so I decided to make Nimrodel into something like a harsh mother-figure to give her a good verbal spanking. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think! I'm trying to learn how to write decently, and all comments, critics and advises are helpful…


End file.
